Devil In The Vatican City
by RavenLadies
Summary: Trinity Blood/Devil May Cry crossover.   Workers make an astonishing discovery while excavating the ruins of an old church, prompting the Vatican to dispatch members of its AX division to investigate.   Strong language, gore and violence.


_This story is a work of fanfiction and is intended for entertainment purposes only. Trinity Blood and Devil May Cry remain the property of their creators, owners and distributors. The overall plot however is the property of the authors._

Devil In The Vatican City

Chapter One

Father William Wordsworth couldn't help feeling a little indignant as he swayed a bit in the saddle. Since he had joined the AX, he had been asked to do a lot of things, the lives of thousands often hinging on his actions. Swaying in an uncomfortable saddle on the back of mule however just didn't seem to carry the same amount of importance.

Wordsworth had been directed to the small town of Castroreale by Cardinal Caterina, the head of the AX, having been informed of some unusual ruins that had been discovered there during land excavations for a new church. Caterina had provided him with two slightly blurry photographs, both of them showing some unusual markings and symbols on weathered stone. The workers had apparently taken them as symbols of bad luck and refused to continue working.

Though Castroreale wasn't a small or poor town, it still lacked a lot of the modern luxuries that William had taken for granted while he had lived in Londinium and Rome, such as motor cars and paved roads. As such, the only way to reach the excavation site was by wagon and pack animal, hence his current mode of transport.

The dark-haired man dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief, the bright Mediterranean sun hot as it beat down on his dark woolen robes. Tucking the handkerchief back in his sleeve, Wordsworth glanced over at his companion to see how he was faring.

Their mode of travel didn't seem to bother Tres. Of course, _nothing_ seemed to bother Tres. Not the heat that beat down on him, nor the swaying of his own occasionally unruly mount. The redheaded android let his gaze sweep back and forth, his posture erect and his expression impassive but somehow attentive. He seemed to notice Wordsworth's eyes on him after a time, and looked over at the man. "Status report, Father Wordsworth?" He asked, his deep voice a steady monotone.

"Still in one piece, Tres." The other man replied non-plussed. "Though I can't say much for my posterior."

"There is still .25 miles until we reach our destination," Tres dutifully reported. "Will you require a rest before then?"

"No, thank you. I think I can manage that long."

"Understood." And without another word, Tres resumed his scanning of the passing countryside.

The two remained silent as they continued on, their mounts obediently following that of the man who had been given the task of guiding them to the excavation site. He wasn't a very talkative sort of fellow as Wordsworth was quick to discover, answering the priest's questions with single syllables. It hadn't take long before William had let his mule fall back to ride alongside Tres.

As the small group crested a gently sloping hill, the two AX agents got their first view of the excavation site. There really wasn't much to see as they drew closer - mounds of dirt piled here and there around a large rectangular hole in the ground. Situated around the site were pale tents, presumably for the workers, the town being quite a hike for them to travel back and forth from each day. As Wordsworth, Tres and their guide entered the camp, several of those milling around turned to regard them.

Tres regarded them in turn, his gaze flicking over them quickly before turning elsewhere - ample enough proof that they likely weren't a threat. However, several of the workers seemed rather intimidated by the red-haired priest, and understandably so. It was finally one very bold worker that approached them as they pulled their mules to a stop, looking at Wordsworth. "Are you...are you the priests sent by the Vatican?"

"Father William W. Wordsworth, at your service." The dark-haired man said with a slight nod of his head. "And you are?"

"The foreman for the project, Antonio Montonya," The man said, looking profoundly relieved. "We've been anxiously awaiting your arrival, Sirs."

"My companion, Father Tres . . ." Wordsworth indicated the redheaded man next to him before climbing down from the mule's back, the priest getting his long robes tangled slightly as he did so.

Tres slid more easily from the saddle, and looked over at Wordsworth. "Do you require assistance, Father Wordsworth?"

"No, I think I've got it now. " William managed to get his hem untangled from the stirrup, the gray-eyed man hopping a little to catch his balance.

Antonio stepped forward, just in case the man needed help, but kept a wary eye on Tres as he did. Something about the other man just didn't seem quite right. "I hope you're able to get to the bottom of this, Father," he said, an undercurrent of nervousness in his tone. "I won't be able to get the men to work again until they know it's safe."

"That's why we're here." Wordsworth said as Tres joined him. "Now what can you tell me about these ruins?" He asked Antonio.

"As far as I can tell, this place was originally a church, and may very well date back to Armageddon, if not before," the man said, waving the two men along as he started walking toward the hole. "The architecture we've been able to uncover is consistent with that period. While most of the building was destroyed, we think what survived was perhaps the foundation for the building, perhaps a basement of some kind. The markings we've found seem to be on a door, but I'm not completely certain about that, either."

William nodded as he listened, he and Tres following the man towards the edge of the excavation hole, several ladders arrayed around the edge of the pit and down into it.

"Let me go down first," Antonio said. "Followed by you, Father Tres, and then you, Father Wordsworth?"

"Of course . . ." William took a step back from the edge of the pit while Antonio descended, followed by Tres. Once the android was on the bottom, the dark-haired man climbed down as well, careful of his footing on the wooden rungs before touching down on the hard-packed earth.

Once he'd touched down, Tres moved away from the ladder and out of the man's way, Antonio already heading down a narrowly dug corridor, carrying a lantern he'd picked up at the foot of the ladder. "This way, Fathers," he said. "It's not far at all now."

The two followed Antonio, the tunnel wide enough for them to walk abreast. Reaching into his robes, Wordsworth pulled out his pipe and put it to his lips, the brunette producing a lighter from within the folds of the midnight wool garment and lighting it.

The sweet smell of the tobacco packed into the pipe lingered around the three of them as Antonio led them on. True to his word, it didn't take them long at all to reach the place where the excavation had stopped, brought to a halt by the presence of a stone wall or door of some kind, and the faded but still legible runes and symbols marked on the stone.

Stepping around Antonio and Tres, Wordsworth moved forward for a closer look. "Antonio," he said as he looked over his shoulder. "A little more light please?" The man stepped a little closer, raising up the light to better illuminate the stone.

William was quiet as he studied the markings, his hand wrapped around the bowl of his pipe as he contemplated them. A few of them were familiar to him, arcane runes and pentagrams from other ruins that had predated Armageddon. There were few who could read them, perhaps only a handful in all that world that Wordsworth knew of, himself included.

"Do you have any idea what they are?" Antonio asked, his tone hushed so that he wouldn't disturb the other man's concentration.

The brunette priest didn't answer the man's question, instead asking one of his own in return. "Has anyone touched this?" he asked.

"Not to my knowledge, unless it was by accidently while we were clearing the dirt away. The minute the men saw it, they all clamored out of the tunnel and refused to go back in."

Wordsworth nodded as he stroked the bowl of his pipe. Antonio thought about repeating his question, but then decided against it, keeping the light steady.

"Tres," Wordsworth beckoned towards the android priest to join him, his gray eyes still on the markings. Tres wordlessly stepped up beside his fellow priest, standing on the man's other side so his tall frame wouldn't block the light. "Yes, Father Wordsworth?"

"Do you have any information on these?"

One of Tres's eyes glowed a faint red as he scanned the surface of the stone, picking out the runes and sigils, rapidly analyzing them. "Affirmative," he said with a single nod. "This is a binding spell, specifically designed to hold a demon."

"I thought so . . ."

Antonio smothered a gasp behind his free hand, his eyes darting from the two priests to the markings on the walls, unable to help the few involuntary steps back he took.

"Suggested plan of action, Father Wordsworth?" Tres asked, his eyes on the Professor.

William withdrew his pipe from between his lips. "I suppose we should see if its still active."

"H-how do you plan to do that?" Antonio breathed.

"By trying to break it, of course." Wordsworth tapped the tobacco out of his pipe and down to the hard-packed earth of the tunnel.

"W-what? But...won't that let out whatever it was supposed to be holding?"

"Quite possibly . . ."

Tres turned to Antonio. "It would be advisable for you to go and wait for us above ground."

"Y-yes...I believe you may be right..." Antonio set down his lantern, backing away hastily. "I'll...just leave this here, then."

William didn't even acknowledge the man's departure, the gray-eyed man still absorbed in the stone wall, the pipe safely tucked away within his robe once again.

"Are you ready for me to test the seal, Father Wordsworth?" Tres asked.

The brunette man nodded and took several steps back from the wall. "Ready when you are, Tres."

Tres stepped forward, reaching up to touch the center most sigil, a pentagram in a circle. The marking flared to life for a moment, and Tres stepped back as sections of the brick wall swung inward, revealing a hidden door, and a darkened chamber beyond.

"Well done . . ." Bending down, Wordsworth picked up the lantern, the brunette priest moving forward towards the darkened maw.

# # #

The interior of the room was covered in a thick layer of dust, the walls streaked with soot. It appeared to have been a workshop of some kind at one point, bits of broken tables and chairs littering the floor. Near the center of the room, as they drew nearer, it was possible to make out the beginnings of another binding circle under the thick layer of dust. It was clear no one had set foot in here for a very, very long time.

William held the lantern up as he and Tres cautiously moved through the chamber, the pair careful not to disturb anything, though they couldn't help the small whirlwinds of dust motes that swirled around their booted feet. The light of the lantern only shone for a few feet in front of them and Wordsworth got the impression that the chamber was quite large. It was Tres who halted them, his advanced vision picking out the markings on the floor underneath the dust.

"There is another binding circle, Professor," the android explained, then took the lantern from the other man, and began to walk the perimeter of the circle, until he was able to edge close enough to shine the light on more of the interior of it. In the dim light, it was possible to make out the outline of a man, bound to a stone table with lengths of chain and rope. Protruding from his chest was a long-bladed sword, which caught the light of the lantern and flashed. Two daggers protruded from the man's wrists, and the chains seemed to be at least partially looped over and around these. In spite of the fact that the room had obviously been undisturbed for a very long time, the body itself didn't look at all diminished by time.

Wordsworth silently followed the android, the brunette pausing when Tres did, his gray eyes squinting in the dim light. "I say, now that's quite interesting."

"Suggested course of action?"

"Let's see what we've got in there."

"Affirmative." Tres took a step past the edge of the circle. The mark on the ground flared to life brightly, but didn't bar his passing. Clearly it was meant to keep something _in,_ not keep anything _out_. William followed a few moments after, the dark-haired man keeping within the light of the lantern.

As they drew closer, and the light fell more fully on their unexpected third party, it became even more clear something wasn't quite normal. The man's skin was pale as death, but it was clearly not the dried out, dessicated remains of a mummified body, either. In fact, had it not been for the weapons jutting up out of the man's body, he could have easily just been asleep.

"Doesn't have the look of a demon, does he?" Wordsworth stepped away from Tres a bit, as he moved closer to the table to study the prone figure.

"Negative," Tres agreed. "It appears to be a human."

The man was strikingly handsome, even given his current circumstances, his body that of a warrior's. He was dressed in scarlet and black leather, his hair a shocking white.

"Of course," William mused. "There are old stories about demons being able to change their shape and take over human bodies."

Tres looked at the figure on the table again. "I believe it is not safe to leave the subject here," he said. "Human or Demon."

"I agree." The dark-haired man said with a nod. "Though I'm not sure of what might happen if we try to move it."

Tres was thoughtful. "In theory, a binding spell could be replicated around the edge of the stone table, allowing for a more portable binding."

Wordsworth seemed to consider that for a few moments. "Which would mean that we could leave him bound but just move the table." He fell silent for once again. "The only problem is how to get the table out."

Tres said nothing at that, searching for a solution to the problem.

"The workers aren't likely to be much help." William added. "And truthfully, I'd much rather leave them out of this as much as possible."

"Agreed," Tres said with a nod, and looked at the table again. "Reinforcements can be called in. Father Asturias and Father Nightroad would be sufficient."

Wordsworth seemed to consider Tres' suggestion, his gray eyes going to the figure on the table. "Yes," he said at length. "I think we need to call in some helping hands."

# # #

Abel Nightroad watched quietly as the Professor swarmed over the stone table, and the strange male bound to it. He, Leon, and Tres had all moved the table, first onto a mule-drawn wagon, then a truck and finally onto _The Iron Maiden_ for transport. After they had arrived in Rome, they had brought it down into the bowels of the Vatican, into one of the many subterranean chambers underneath the sprawling complex. It was decided that it would be the safest place to keep such a potentially dangerous thing. Now that they'd finished the move, the pale-haired priest wasn't quite sure what was supposed to happen next, but had decided to stick around for it.

Leon likewise had hung back as well, the scruffy looking man having been given a respite from prison for the time being. While he could have cared less about the "significant find" that had Wordsworth all afire, he couldn't help feeling a bit curious about the strange man and what had happened to him.

"So what do you make of all this?" Abel asked Leon, his tone soft.

"The word circus comes to mind."

Abel nodded once. "I worry about anything that has the Professor acting like a school boy."

"So what do you think the deal is?" Leon asked Abel. "Demon binding spells, all the chains and the weapons . . ."

"Someone's gone to a great deal of trouble to make sure our friend there doesn't get up," Abel said, frowning a little as he scoured his oldest memories. "But I can't imagine who he is, or why someone would be so desperate..."

"I don't know," the dark-haired man said. "Maybe because he's a demon? Or at least somebody thought he was."

"It's pretty obvious someone thought he was," Abel agreed, nodding. "And I admit, given that he's in relatively good shape considering where he was found, there may be some validity to the claim. On the other hand, it may be the spells alone that's holding him in that state, and there's a chance he may just crumble to dust once the enchantments are gone."

"That'll have the Professor crying like a little girl."

"Which might be entertaining, in and of itself," Abel murmured in an undertone so only Leon could hear it. The dark-haired priest grinned.

Abel smiled back. "Shall we see if he needs any help?"

"If we must . . ." Leon replied as he pushed away from the wall.

"Well, strictly speaking, you don't _have_ to," Abel said, and padded silently over to Wordsworth.

"But I'll never hear the end of it if I don't." Leon followed after the pale-haired man.

Abel just chuckled, and looked at the Professor. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

Wordsworth looked up as the other two men joined him. "You can help me with these chains," he replied. "They're much heavier then they look."

Abel nodded. "Of course..." The priest walked closer to the table the strange man was laying on, looking him over and not fort he first time as he sought to hunt down the ends of the chain so he could start unwinding them.

Leon moved to assist the ivory-haired priest, between the two of them, they found the end of the chair and began to untangle it.

It took a little time to untangle and remove the chains, and the ropes after that. Throughout all of it, the man bound to the table never moved, nor did he stir.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Professor?" Leon asked as the last of the last of the bindings were removed, leaving only the weapons impaling the man's body. "I mean, what if this guy wakes up?"

"At this point Leon," Wordsworth replied. "I don't believe he will."

"And if he does, then we've got you and Tres and myself all here," Abel said. "We should be able to handle one demon, if he turns out to be hostile."

"Truthfully Abel," William said. "I'm not entirely convinced that this man is a demon, despite how he was found and bound."

"Just because he hasn't woken yet?" Abel asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Yes," the other man replied. "Unfortuantely, I believe our white-haired friend here is quite dead."

"He doesn't look too dead to me." Leon observed.

"I think the binding spell has preserved him." Wordsworth explained. "Just on what I've investigated so far, I think he was probably the _trapper_ and not the _trappee_."

"I've never heard of a binding spell preserving a human like that," Abel said, "Although I suppose it's technically possible."

The Professor nodded. "My initial investigation of his weapons puts them as pre-Armageddon," he said. "We both know how much knowledge was lost from that time."

"That's true..." Abel granted with a nod of his head.

"So he got on the bad end of the demon then?" Leon mused. "And ended up in his own binding?"

"That's my feeling." Wordsworth said.

"That would explain his garb and weapons," Abel said thoughtfully, reaching out to touch one of the daggers lightly. "One way to find out for certain..."

"Would you care to do the honors, Father Nightroad?" William asked.

"I'd be happy to," Abel said. "If you'd go stand over with Tres, Professor? You may be right, and he may be dead, but I'd rather not take chances."

Wordsworth bowed in Abel's direction before moving to stand next to Tres, the android having remained quiet and immobile while they had removed the chains and ropes.

"What about me?" Leon asked Abel.

"Put yourself between the professor and myself, please," Abel said. "If the binding works properly, he won't be able to leave the tabletop, but I'm taking no chances."

"You heard the Professor," the long-haired brunette said. "He's dead. He's not going to go anywhere." Even as he spoke, Leon moved to where Abel had indicated, the big man crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"I'm not taking chances," Abel repeated, turning his attention back to the table, and wrapping his fingers around the handle of the first dagger. He gave a tug, which loosened the blade, before slipping it from the wound, blinking when what appeared to be fresh blood welled up in it, the scent sharp in his senses by virtue of being unexpected. The other dagger produced a similar result, and finally, only the sword was left.

The other men watched silently, Wordsworth attentively so, taking careful mental notes that would be transcribed later in the quiet of his office.

It took a fair bit of Abel's strength to wrench the sword free, and like the daggers, the wound in the male's chest welled with fresh blood. But instead of crumbling to dust, like they had been expecting, the man instead rolled over onto his side, coughing and clutching at the wound on his chest, gasping frantically for air. Abel took three steps back before he caught himself retreating, staring at the white-haired man in shock.

"Well now . . ." Wordsworth murmured, his pipe clasped tightly between his lips.

Tres and Leon both drew their weapons as soon as the man moved, the two leveling their guns on the red-clad figure. "Yeah, he looks pretty dead to me." Leon said dryly.

Abel's pistol joined theirs the moment he'd caught himself, and because he was the closest, it was on him the stranger turned. Moving far too quickly for a human, the man sprung at Abel, who braced himself for the impact. The stranger's hands went straight for Abel's gun, and Abel watched in astonishment as the wound in the man's chest started sealing over before his eyes. Nor did it appear that the initial blood loss was hampering him in anyway.

"Abel!" Leon called out to the ivory-haired priest, the dark-eyed man trying to get a clear shot at the strange man.

The sound of his name helped snap Abel from his surprise, and he brought his mind back to the task at hand, lashing out at the man's hand on his wrist, striking a nerve and forcing his attacker to release him. Abel darted away, toward his friends. "Protect the Professor!" He called out.

"Affirmative."

Tres stepped forward, raising his guns. Faced with that much artillery, the scarlet-clad man stopped in his tracks, watching them carefully.

Both the android and Leon had their weapons leveled on the white-haired man, the Professor behind them, a slightly bemused expression on his face. "I say, now that's quite interesting . . ."

"Who the hell are you?" The man growled, his intense aquamarine eyes flicking from one to the next, assessing who might be the least threat. Abel had reached his companions by then, and had slipped himself between the man and the Professor.

"My name is William Walter Wordsworth," Wordsworth said after a moment or two. "Department of Holy Affairs, Special Duty Division AX." he concluded.

Other than the man's name, none of it seemed to register with the pale-haired man. That didn't bode well, Abel thought, but he took a slight step forward. "I am Father Abel Nightroad," He said softly, holstering his weapon and doing his best to look harmless. "I'm a travelling priest of the Vatican."

"The Vatican?" The man frowned.

"Yes," William replied as he stepped forward a bit, moving around Leon's immobile figure. "We're priests under the Vatican." He said. "This is Father Leon and Father Tres."

The man's blue eyes fell on Leon, and he quirked an eyebrow. "He's a priest?"

"Yeah." The long-haired brunette replied. "Got a problem with that?"

Abel reached out, laying a calming hand on Leon's shoulder. "We are _all_priests of the Vatican," Abel went on, looking over at the man as he spoke.

"Never met a priest who was packing iron."

"Unfortunately the world isn't as peaceful as it once was." Wordsworth said, the older man motioning for Tres and Leon to lower their weapons.

Tres did so obediently, though he didn't holster the weapons, his unblinking gaze fixed on the stranger. Abel relaxed a fraction when he saw the weapons go down.

The man was quiet for a few moments, looking around his surroundings. This definitely wasn't the place he'd been in when he'd been put in that binding circle, and he wondered, briefly, just where he'd ended up. Scowling at that thought, he started to shift off the table, only to have the binding circle flare to life again, barring his way and making him growl.

"Sorry about that," William said. "But I'm sure you understand. We weren't quite sure what we were dealing with."

Leon tensed slightly as the circle flared to life, the priest starting to raise his weapon again when the Professor put out his hand to forestall him. With a slight scowl, Leon holstered the pistol back within his robes.

The man shifted until he was sitting on the table cross-legged, and watched the assembled priests for a time before he spoke again. "Okay, so would one of you guys mind telling me just where the hell I am? This isn't where I got staked."

"You're in the Vatican," the Professor replied. "Or to be more precise, underneath the Vatican." The dark-haired man removed his pipe from between his lips.

"...I've got one more question..." _And I"m pretty sure I'm not going to like the answer..._

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions."

"Okay, let's make that one more immediately relevant question."

"Of course . . ." Wordsworth regarded the white-haired man, taking another few steps forward until he was only perhaps an arm's length from the table.

"How long have I been out?"

The Professor put the pipe back between his lips, his fingers caressing the ivory bowl. "That is the question, isn't it . . . Mister . . . ?" he said in response.

"Dante...Dante Sparda." The man was frowning again, not at all liking the dodge.

"Well Mister Sparda," Wordsworth started once again. "All I can say that it appears to have been a very, very long time."

Abel was listening to the exchange quietly. If it were true that the man had been locked in that chamber since before Armageddon, then there was a very good possibility he was older than Abel was. And that was a hard concept to wrap his head around.

Dante, in the meantime, was still scowling. "Just how long is a very long time?" He said.

"Long enough that they'd let me be a priest in the Vatican." Leon answered dryly.

"So sometime after hell froze over?" Dante replied, his own tone just as dry.

Leon grinned. "For a dead guy, he's pretty lively Professor."

"You thought I was dead?"

Abel gave a bit of a wry smile. "Considering how we found you bound."

"Hm...there's something to that."

"A slight miscalculation on my part." Wordsworth said.

"So, I don't suppose any of the three of you would have a smoke, would you?"

"Not a cigarette at any rate." William replied while Leon shook his dark head. Behind them, Tres remained immobile, the android's unflinching gaze still leveled on Dante.

Abel shook his head. "Never a habit I acquired."

Dante's eyes turned to Tres. "What's his story? He hasn't blinked once since I woke up."

Wordsworth turned his head a bit to look at Tres. "Father Tres is an android." He said as he turned back towards Dante.

"Android..." Dante shook his head.

Abel nodded. "Part of a...lost technology, if you will."

_That_ seemed to give Dante enough of an idea of just how long he'd been unconscious, and he was looking like nothing so much as a man who'd just been hit in the back of the head with a board.

"As I said Mister Sparda," William said. "A very, very long time."

"...No fucking kidding."

Wordsworth's eyes softened a bit as he looked at Dante. "I can imagine this all quite overwhelming for you." He said gently.

"That, sir, is the understatement of my lifetime," Dante replied wryly. "Now...about letting me down off this table..."

"Yes, well . . ." the older brunette man said. "Tres . . ."

"Affirmative." Tres headed for the table, as Abel looked to the Professor. "Are you certain this is wise?"

"I'm sure that Mister Sparda will give us his word that he'll behave himself." Wordsworth looked at Dante, one dark eyebrow raised slightly.

"Mister Sparda is willing to promise that he won't kill anybody who doesn't try to kill him first," Dante replied.

"Better keep him away from the Inquisitorial Department, then." Leon said, the long-haired man having fallen into a more relaxed stance.

"With a name like that, that sounds like just common sense," Dante said, and then fell silent as Tres stopped at the table, circling it once before reaching out and wiping away one of the markings on the circle. It flared briefly, then faded, and the rest of the runes around the tabletop vanished. Dante tentatively reached out for where the barrier would be, and relaxed some when he found it missing. Tres stepped back as Dante slid from the table, and gave a long overdue stretch.

The Professor turned towards Abel. "I think its best that we keep Mister Sparda's awakening under wraps ." He said. "At least until I speak with Cardinal Caterina and apprise her of the situation."

"I agree," Abel said, nodding once. "But we won't be able to keep him down here, either, I don't think."

"No," Wordsworth agreed. "I think it would be best to keep him in the AX wing of the residence hall."

"That sounds like a very good plan," Abel said, nodding his agreement, and looking over at Dante, who seemed to be in the process of sizing Tres up.

"I can trust you with looking after him then, while I make my report to Her Eminence?"

Abel nodded. "Of course. Take Tres with you, since he was there when you found him. Leon and I can handle our new guest."

Wordsworth nodded, the dark-haired man turning away from Abel. "Father Tres . . ."

"Yes, Father Wordsworth?" Tres said, turning toward the man.

"Mister Sparda, if you'd just follow me?" Abel asked Dante, gesturing silently for Leon to follow as well.

William motioned towards the android. "We're going to see Lady Caterina." Without waiting for a response, the Professor turned and started towards the door, trusting that Tres would follow.

"Who's Lady Caterina?" Dante asked, as he watched Tres and Wordsworth leave.

"The head of the AX division," Abel explained.

"The lady who signs our paychecks." Leon added as the trio started towards the now open door as well.

Dante nodded. "I see," he said, then fell silent, giving himself a little time to try processing everything he'd been told up to that point. Abel left him to his thoughts, leading the way up out of the catacombs, and for the AX's wing of the residence hall.

"So who's room is he going in?" Leon asked as they climbed the stairs, the halls and stairwell blessedly empty as they made their way up.

"The Professor didn't actually say," Abel said. "But the wing itself is relatively large. I'm sure we can find something for him. I think something somewhat private would be a good idea." The priest dropped his tone so only Leon could hear. "At least until he's gotten over some of the shock."

"We can always stash him in Hugue's room," the dark-haired man offered up. "Its not like he's ever around to use it."

Abel considered that. "It would keep him near our rooms, which would be good, I think. And you are quite correct in your assessment. I can't remember the last time I saw him stay here."

"Although you could probably use mine," Leon said. "I'll probably be on my way back to prison now that all the excitement is over."

"If you don't have any objections, that would probably be better," Abel admitted, his tone soft. "Though when you get sent back is more up to Lady Catarina."

"Yeah well, I'm not holding my breath that she's going to keep me around."

"Time will tell."

They'd reached the wing by then, and Abel smiled a bit. "Well, at any rate, let's see about getting our new guest settled."


End file.
